Toe the line
by SpyderSanford
Summary: Things get complicated in a complicated city for a complicated man, for whom redundant use of the word complicated is the least of his worries. Some language and adult situations. Rated M just to be safe. If it's any good I'd like to know.
1. Prologue, Pt 1

A cold night. Too cold to stand outside waiting. A smoke didn't pass the time fast enough. But then again nothing ever moved fast enough for Harry. Even in the city of Townsville where little girls with superpowers went toe-to-toe with super-intelligent monkeys. Harry palmed the snub-nosed revolver in his coat with one hand and compulsively smoked a cigarette with the other, regretting the attempt at a film-noir style of attire and attitude, as it required slick one liners and clever quips, which he wasn't any good at. Too late, he figured, as just then, the gang green made their appearance. A grotesque menagerie of hoodlums with green skin. Like a virus they never quite went away. They had stranglehold on half the drug trade in Townsville. Bastards were smart enough to work it so they were never quite to blame in the eyes of the law though.

Harry knew he couldn't put them away, since nothing would stick. They'd get out the next day. He couldn't just blast them either since he couldn't justify that to himself. Not yet. That wasn't really his style anyway.

Harry had been looking into the deaths of a few people who'd tried the new thing on the street. Drug called "Eclipse." Stuff was extracted from chemical X, some compound used in a few cosmetics and likely the stuff that, in the right dose (read: an ass load), made the local pint-sized pastel-colored trio a superpowered pint-sized pastel trio. Normally, this'd just be a few irresponsible junkies that kicked the bucket when they didn't know what they were doing.

But Harry had a hunch, a gun, and a badge. Three things that get people killed daily.

Except for people like Harry.


	2. Prologue Pt 2

Harry had a long stride, an advantage given by his height and gangly frame. Long steps that marched him quickly closer and closer to the green-skinned group. Steps that splashed infrequently in the puddles created by the heavy rain. He was glad to be moving again. Being stationary is never conducive to staying warm. Cigarettes increase the blood flow and keep you from being bored, but don't really warm you up. You can stamp your feet, which works for a while, but nothing beats plain old activity. Of course that could always be said.

He'd been formulating in his head how to phrase it, but it all meant the same thing. He couldn't simply walk up to some hoodlums and ask "Can you tell me what you know about these dead people?" and expect a straight answer, or even any answer at all. Especially a bunch of ill mannered, drug kingpin hoodlums. The outfit already gave him away as some Phillip Marlowe wannabe who'd ask too many questions, so he'd have to start out on the offensive. He waited till he was a good four feet from the group, then piped up.

A simple "Hey assholes." got their attention just fine

They spun around, more quizzical than angry.

"Who're you supposed to be?" asked the tall, thin, and greasy Ace.

Harry pulled the cigarette off his lips, and said "The press. The cops. Just a concerned citizen. Doesn't matter. What matters is if you wanna keep your teeth and your business you're gonna keep right on walking to that diner, sit down, and eat your dinner while you answer some questions I gotta ask you." he punctuated the last sentence with a flick of his middle finger and index finger, propelling his cigarette straight into Ace's chest, bouncing off and sending sparks into the air.

There was probably a full five seconds of silence, with tension so thick you couldn't cut through it with a chainsaw.

If Harry could remember anything after this, it'd probably be Big Billy barreling into him. It'd be a pretty clear picture, given how wide his eyes went.


	3. Optimism

They eyes shot open. What he saw wasn't the ceiling of his apartment, like it had been some dream, but a dream that ended. And he wasn't face up in a moving, but safe ambulance, like it was bad but over. Harry woke up in an alley in a lot of pain, wet, bleeding, bruised, and staring down the muzzle of his own Smith & Wesson. He could see the five hollowpoint .38s he'd loaded before he set out that night. Except of course for the one under the barrel.

It was snake that clutched the gun, his fingers so long you could swear they'd wrap around the grips of that little snub twice.

"Not a good idea to kill a cop, ya know. You guys are slick, but not that slick. Don't care how good your lawyers are or your connections. They can't keep you outta prison if you put me down." Said Harry, keeping the terror out of his voice.

He fumbled around until he could pull out his pack of Nails. He never quite lost eye contact with snake, but he stuck a finger into the pack to find that most of them had been smashed. Didn't take much fishing around.

"Look, it's nothing personal..." Said Ace, with that perpetual smirk.

"...It's just I can't have a cop runnin' around after we give him a concussion. Especially cops prone to ask questions. With what's going down lately we just can't take any chances."

That was it. The one thing that put Harry at peace in his final moments. He was right. Like any asshole, Harry was most happy when he was right and other people were wrong. He saw Snake start to take up the trigger, and the cylinder began to rotate.

"Mind if I have one last smoke?"

"Not at all" Said Ace, not sparing the smug tone. He gestured to snake, and he relented on the trigger.

Harry looked down to the cigarette. He jammed his hands into various pockets, acting like he was looking for his zippo. During this process he punched the record button on the tape recorder he held on to. Finally he brought the zippo to the end of the cigarette, and hit the flint. Again. Again. Finally the sparks ignited the wick. The tall, bright flame darkened everything around it to harry. The cigarette had taken a serious hit from the rain. For a second, the whole world was just the flame and the cigarette.

At last, it got some embers going. As harry looked up, he shouted over the rain "So what's 'going down late'..." Harry stopped when he saw an empty alley and his snub nosed revolver in a solid block of ice. He gradually picked himself up, cigarette dangling off his lip. As he stumbled towards the exit to the alley he could hear something over the now deafening rain. He peeked around the corner to see that local trio just laying into the green bastards.

Harry thought about his situation as he leaned on the building, burning down the Nail. He probably overestimated the phrase Ace used 'What's going down lately' he realized. So basically the only real outcome was he got the shit kicked out of him and he got his gun frozen, which can't be good for it, and he didn't get a piece of information, other than that the gangreen gang doesn't take kindly to dickbags with bad lines that flick cigarettes at them.

But hey, at least he wasn't dead yet.


End file.
